Here there be Spontainiously Combusting Pillows
by Duckweed
Summary: Durza must employ all his ingenuity to cure King Galbatorix of a horrendously humiliating disease known to all as the hiccups. Slightly implied DurzaOC


"…and with my mighty army of doom, I shall smite the puny, pathetic and pitiful resistance who dare to defy the mighty, majestic magnificence that is me, myself, and yours truly, I who stands for all that is BIG and impressive looking! And they who are small and squirmy shall behold my mighty majestic magnificence and be awestruck by glorifying glory…"

Durza poked his mashed potatoes experimentally and sighed. Yet another dinner listening to King Galbatorix talk about how mighty, majestic and magnificent he is wasn't doing much for the shade's appetite. Maybe afterwards he would go down to the dungeon and torture a few random prisoners. That made him smile. Inflicting pain always cheered him up.

"…so, with their entrails oozing all over the ground and their severed heads stationed at least twenty-five yards away from the remainder of their bodies, my filthy, treacherous enemies will be dead as doornails! In other words, they will be one hundred percent vanquished! MuhuhuhahahahaheheHICheheHICheheHIC…haha…HIC?"

"That was a good laugh," remarked Durza, pushing his dark, wine-red hair out of his eyes. "Only next time, try not to peter out like that towards the end. It ruins the effect."

"I think," Said the King, "I think I've HIC! I've got the HIC! I think I've got HIC! got the HIC! the—"

"Oh come on, just spit it out! You've got the…measles? The meaning of life? The urge to dance the funky chicken on the roof with a pot of begonias?" Durza prompted, impatiently.

"The HIC! hiccups."

The shade smiled, showing his pointed teeth. This could provide some much needed entertainment, at his sovereign's expense.

"Oh, the hiccups! I'm so sorry. Such a horrible bother, the hiccups."

"So HIC! so how do I HIC! get rid of them?"

"Well, the most classical cure would be to scare you, but it's got to be spontaneous. Hold on a moment."

"HIC!"

Durza beckoned a serving maid over from where she had been unobtrusively doing absolutely nothing in a random dark corner.

"Hey you! Get us a glass of water, will you? And be quick about it!"

"Yes sir," the girl said politely, curtseying.

"Just get it! I don't have all day to sit around watching some dunderheaded wench curtseying all over the place! Hurry up, will you?!"

"I HIC! Don't know what HIC! you want water for, I mean HIC! we've already got HIC! beer," remarked Galbatorix, as the terrified maid scrambled off.

"I'm not sure if it works with anything other than water, and I don't want to take chances while your, um, health is at stake," explained the shade.

Approximately five minutes later, Durza was explaining something different—how to go about drinking from the far side of a large, spiky, jewel-encrusted goblet.

"It's simple, really. You just lean way over—"

Splorsh!

"You'll HIC! you'll pay HIC! for that!"

"Don't blame me, you didn't do it right."

"It HIC! didn't HIC! It didn't work. HIC!"

"Trust me, I can tell. Do not despair, my liege. What happened to that miserable girl with the curtseying obsession?"

"At your service, noble lord." She started to curtsey, but caught herself halfway through. Durza gave her a disapproving glare.

"Right. Go get some feathers."

"Yes sir—wait, what? Why?"

"Just do as you're told! And don't question your superiors!" Durza shook his head as the maid took off, tripping over an inconveniently located hat rack shaped like a moose. "What a ridiculous, scatterbrained little twit. I think I'm beginning to like her."

"HIC!"

Several minutes later, the ridiculous, scatterbrained twit who Durza is beginning to like had not yet returned. In between hiccups, Galbatorix was beginning to look somewhat discouraged.

"You could try eating a spoonful of sugar," suggested Durza, sliding the jewel encrusted sugar bowl in the king's general direction.

He tried it. It didn't work.

"Alas," said the shade, "we shall continue waiting for yon dimwit to return."

When yon dimwit did return, finally, she was carrying a large, fluffy pillow.

"I have completed my quest, your honor." She held out the pillow.

Durza blinked. "I asked you for feathers."

"The pillow is stuffed with the finest down, my liege," she paused, then added, "Down is another word for feathers."

"Of course down is another word for feathers! Do you take me for a fool, you miserable wretch?!" The girl opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly thought better of it, and fell silent.

"Now," said Durza, regaining his composure in a fraction of a second, "I've heard it said up in the north that the smell of burning feathers cures hiccups." He held the exceedingly poofy pillow up to one of the wall torches. He then handed the smoldering object to Galbatorix.

"HIC!"

"How regrettable. If you were up in the north, you would be cured by now."

The pair of villains said nothing for a moment, contemplating their failure.

"YEEEEEOOOOUhic!UUUWWWWWCH!!!"

"Oh, damn, the pillow! Help! Fire, fire!!!"

Galbatorix jumped up from his jewel encrusted throne and ran around the dramatic looking dining room, holding the smoldering pillowcase at arm's length, as a cloud of charred feather remains drifted along behind him.

"How HIC! how do I HIC! put it out?!"

"I dunno! Find a barrel of water to dunk it in, or something!" the shade collapsed into a fit of coughing, having inhaled a large lump of something airborne and burning.

"Pardon me, sir, but you could just put it down," suggested the serving maid.

There was a long pause.

"…I was just about to say that," said Durza.

Galbatorix hastily dropped the combusted pillow on the stone floor, and stomped on it till the flames died.

"What a close call. I'm so lucky to have such a resourceful chief advisor," said the king.

"It was nothing, my lord, nothing. Any other despicable antagonist would have done the same, I'm sure."

"Nevertheless, I—" Galbatorix's face lit up. "I believe I've lost my hiccups!"

"Congratulations, your majesty. And if you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough mashed potatoes. Good night."

As he turned to go, the serving maid asked "Don't you like mashed potatoes?"

"I've had quite enough impudence from you, rat!" He paused, and then in a slightly less intimidating voice, inquired, "Are you fond of torturing people, young miss?"

Her wide, blue eyes lit up with sudden interest. "Oh, yes my lord! Very much so!"

"I was just going to do just that. You can come if you like." As she began to follow him, he rounded on her. "What?! Your not even going to be polite and curtsey!? Goodness, talk about ingratitude!" Without waiting for an answer, but taking care to swirl his black cloak in an evil and dramatic manner, he swept out of the hall.


End file.
